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A yelet Waldman became semi-famous for declaring in a New York Times column that she loved her husband more than her children (http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/27/fashion/27love.html). After receiving death threats, she went on Oprah to defend herself. I missed that episode (and every other Oprah episode since I returned to work last year), but heard a bit about the hullabaloo and was eager to read her new book, Bad Mother.

In her original column, Waldman says "I wondered why so many of the women I knew were not having sex with their husbands, while I still was, and I concluded that it might be because they, unlike me, had refocused their passion from their husbands or partners onto their children.” She admits that if a Good Mother was someone who loved her children more than anyone else in the world, even her husband, then she was a Bad Mother. Waldman talks about how such admissions are taboo in our society and the current trend to “Good Mother” and “Bad Mother” labels that are so vehemently and publicly attributed. 

Bad Mother: A Chronicle of Maternal Crimes, Minor Calamities, and Occasional Moments of Grace

by Ayelet Waldman

Doubleday

Hardcover, $29.95

She rejects “patriarchy” as a reason for the labeling and judging of mothers as “Bad”, since it “originates not from some patriarchal grand inquisitor’s office, but, in large part, from individual women.” She does admit that women have always enforced social conduct, even when it hurt them (like in the Witchcraft trials), but says that in this current Bad Mother labelling, “we women are the primary authors of our own subjugation.” Why? “By defining for us the kinds of mothers we’re not, they make it easier for us to stomach what we are.”

In other words, this grown-up name-calling helps to calm the hyper-guilt and anxiety that grips most mothers today. We're afraid that we're working too much, or not enough, that we're too permissive or too strict, that we're breastfeeding too long or not long enough. When faced with all of these worries, it can be a comfort to be able to say to ourselves that at least we aren’t as bad as Britney Spears, or that woman on the street who yelled at her child, or Andrea Yates (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_Yates).

Just as a sidebar, I still think this is patriarchy – has Waldman forgotten the famous teachings of Kate Millett from her Women’s Studies courses? The personal is political, my friend! In other words, the attitudes that we hold and the decisions that we make in our personal lives are inextricably linked to the world of politics (i.e. power dynamics) in which we live. But perhaps it doesn’t matter who is to blame.

Waldman shows that the definition of what constitutes a Good Father is mostly attendance; a Good Father shows up – to change a diaper, to watch a ballet recital, provide for a family and maybe even a shoulder to cry on.

The definitions popularly given for a Good Mother, however, are so encompassing that they seem unattainable for any human. This is why, when asked for an example of who could call herself a Good Mother, the answers are invariably fictional: June Cleaver from Leave it to Beaver and Marmee from Little Women. Good Mothers must be perfect, and above all are defined by their self-abnegation: “her children’s needs come first.”

Waldman continues, “we are supposed not only to sacrifice ourselves for our children but to do so willingly, cheerfully, and without ever feeling any seething resentment, and when we fail, as we must, we feel guilty and ashamed…How does one find consolation in the face of all this failure and guilt? One way is by revelling in the dark exploits of mothers who are worse, far worse, than we are.” In this case, it's someone like Waldman, who is accused of loving her husband more than her kids. She doesn’t really explain why she does, or what definition of love she bases it on. For myself, the love I feel for my husband is different from the love I feel for my son, but could I quantify them? Measure up the love units and compare them, calculating one to be more than another?

Watching Lost last season, I was terrified when Sun left her daughter (with her own mother, I think, but I am constantly confused by the show) in order to search for the island upon which her husband was stranded, even though she knew that he was almost certainly dead and that she would not be able return to civilization. At that time, I swore to my husband Stephen that I would never do such a thing, and that if we suddenly found ourselves in some TV universe and we were in a situation where he had abandoned our child to search for me, when he found me I would kill him for doing so.

I clarified this in a pact: if we were all, god forbid, in a burning house, and I could only save one of them, I would choose our son Jack. And I expected him to do the same, which he agreed to, under duress. But my reasons may have less to do with love, and more to do with the fact that Jack is not as capable of saving himself as a grown adult could. Does this mean I love him more? I don’t know. And should I know? Should I love one more than the other? Or exactly equally, in different ways and be able to articulate each reason and justify each love unit? Does this make me a Good or Bad Mother?

Stephen’s muttered response to my rant was that he would hope for a smaller fire so that I would be able to save both of them. And then he changed the channel.

But back to the Good vs. Bad Mother.

Why are we so hard on ourselves and our fellow mothers? As Waldman asks, “why can’t we all just get along” instead of judging and berating each other? She doesn’t seem to really have an answer, and neither do I, except to point out the unrealistic expectation of perfection in a modern woman’s life; we're supposed to have fulfilling and successful careers, beautifully decorated and spotless homes, perfectly toned bodies, home cooked organic and local meals, and magazine-spread holidays, and it should all be documented with photos in lavish scrapbooks, and shared with everyone we know on Facebook and Twitter so that they will know how perfect and happy we are. And when we ultimately cannot possibly live up to such ridiculous standards and expectations, we feel guilty and ashamed and then start to point fingers and call out women who we think are doing a worse job than we are, to make ourselves feel better.

“This book is about the perils and joys of trying to be a decent mother in a world intent on making you feel like a bad one.” While Waldman only professes to attempt to tell her story about trying to be a decent mother, I am more interested in the wider story of all of us trying to be good mothers. But perhaps this happens only one mother at a time, and that what we need to do to start is to all tell our own stories of our attempts to be good mothers, and admit when we feel like we aren’t doing a good job: “I believe that mothers should tell the truth even – no, especially – when the truth is difficult.”